Me and John Outside the Library: A play in two acts

Act One
Midday outside the Library of Congress. It’s hotter than a goat’s ass in a pepper patch. Our Hero, a tall, skinny, bespectacled researcher, is having his post-lunch cigarette when John, a black man in his sixties with salt and pepper hair and beard, approaches him.

John: Excuse me suh, would you mind giving me one of your cigarettes?
Our Hero: I think I could do that.
He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a pack of Parliament Lights. Pulls one out and hands it to the gentleman. John takes it, and stares at it intently.
John: Oh man, oh man, Ah was scared tah death you wouldn’t have a cigarette Ah like.
He tears off the extended filter.
John: Ah was gonna be a Georgia mule if you handed me a menthol. Man, oh man. Thank you very much.
Our Hero: Don’t worry about it.
Our Hero drops his cigarette to the ground and steps on it.
Our Hero: Well, I’m gonna head back in.
John: Take care now; thanks again.

Act Two
It is one week later. Our Hero is again standing outside the Library, smoking a cigarette, as has become his custom every day after lunch. Does he do this in the hope of meeting John again? Perhaps. Today is much like every day this summer, hotter than a butcher’s armpit. Our hero has just found some shade to stand in when he sees John walking toward him.

John (not recognizing him): Excuse me, suh, would you mind giving me one of your cigarettes?
Our Hero: Not at all, sir, not at all.
He reaches into has pocket and pulls out a pack of Parliament Lights. Pulls one out and hands it to the gentleman.
John: Man, oh man, it seems the deeper you go, the more complicated it gets. The deeper you go, the more complicated it gets.
Shaking his head at the wonder of it all.
Our Hero: Yeah, I think I know what you mean. I’m in the same place.
John: What you workin’ on in there?
Our Hero: I’m researching Philip Roth. He’s a novelist, and the Library has all of his papers.
John: A novelist, huh. What kind of novelist is he? Like, suspense?
Our Hero: No, he’s, uh, sort of a comic novelist.
John: A comic novelist, huh. Man, oh man, that must be tough.
Our Hero: Yeah, it is tough, but you know, it can be very interesting too.
John: (in a questioning tone, eyebrows raised): Ah do buhlieve it’s interesting!?
A pregnant pause.
Our Hero: It can be fun sometimes, actually.
John: Man, oh man, Ah’d give … Ah’d give the tip of mah left pinkie to be able to work on something like that!
Our hero drops his cigarette to the ground and steps on it.
Our Hero: Well, I think I’m gonna head back in.
John: Nice talking to you…what you say your name was?
Our Hero: Dave
John: The name’s John, pleased to meet you.
Our Hero: Nice talking to you, John.

With that, Our Hero walks back to the comfort and isolation of the heavily air-conditioned library. At the last moment before he exits the stage, his face registers something like an epiphany. He’s just remembered he has leftovers in the fridge, and won’t have to spend any money for dinner tonight. It began to rain.